


Widow and Winding

by Achika



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Southern Gothic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-07-09 18:17:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19892221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achika/pseuds/Achika
Summary: Don't mind my brother he's a marionette / With a sinking stone when he's holding his breathBray returns to the burned Wyatt Compound to see what he can find.





	Widow and Winding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hyacinthus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyacinthus/gifts).



The old dirt road kicks up dust as he drives over it and the last light of the sun is sinking beyond the horizon, decorating the sky in reds and oranges. It will be gone by the time actually gets to his destination, but that suits him just fine. There’s no need to rush, and stars can light the path just as well.

The radio teeters between two stations, picking up both and neither at once. A preacher gives a static-filled sermon over the low fiddles and drums from the music station that’s almost out of range. He drums his fingers in time to the beat.

 _“Oh, I'll cut you down_  
_For I know you are weak_  
_And will those who love you_  
_Love you when you're free?”_

He hums along. In a blink the sun has disappeared and he’s making the final turn up the winding driveway. He pulls to a stop and kills the headlights. The world is plunged into darkness momentarily before the fireflies start to shine, bright speckles of yellow light in the night. The hum of Cicadas is nearly deafening in the silence.

“Well it sure is nice to be home,” Bray says to himself, and holds out his hand. A firefly lands on his fingers, fluttering gently. “Did you miss me?” Bray asks it with a wry smile before blowing it away and letting it continue its flight.

It still smells of ash and smoke even though it’s been so long, at least to Bray, and no one else has been around to ask. Overwhelming and thick enough in the air to steal the breath from your lungs if one wasn’t careful. He does not think that the mark Randy left on the land will ever really leave.

The old storage barn is completely destroyed, not quite as sturdy as the house itself which still has some frame standing, reaching into the dark. Weeds and grass are overgrowing any place where they see an opportunity, trying their best to thrive in spite of the wreckage of the compound. He’s tried to keep it clear, but Bray can’t be out here as often as he wants.

Bray takes a moment to mourn the loss again. In the past, they would have rebuilt immediately. But Bray’s flock scattered long ago and would not come if he called them home, not yet, the willful lambs they are. He does miss them, Braun and Erick and Luke, though he puts it out of his mind. Birds must learn to fly from the nest after all. Eventually they will return. All Bray has to do is be patient.

Bray pulls on black leather gloves to protect his hands, lights his lantern, and begins digging through the rubble. Since the fire he’s slowly made his way through sections of the house, searching for anything that might be salvageable. It’s hard, slow work done by lantern light because the harsh light of day makes the whole process seem perverse and futile. The breeze that sways the tree branches is warm but welcome as he works.

Bray moves rubble and digs until eventually his hands find something soft. A stuffed rabbit, gray even under the grime with its whiskers singed. Hand sown. Bray laughs. Luke had always had so many hidden talents and a soft heart, and the children had loved when he’d surprise them with little poppets and toys.

He set the rabbit aside to keep, and went back to work. Maybe he’d show it to Luke the next time they meet. He’ll be pleased it hadn’t burned, Bray is sure. The moon hangs full and bright in the sky, watching Bray excavate his own home like a graverobber. It doesn’t take long for Bray to make his next discovery.

It’s a porcelain doll - covered from head to toe in ash - that had somehow survived despite being so fragile. Bray remembers buying this doll at a flea market when he was young as a half-jest due to the resemblance.

 _“Now I can watch over you even when I’m not here,”_ Abigail had said and laughed and kissed Bray’s forehead in thanks. She gave the doll a place of honor on the mantel above the fireplace.

Bray carefully wipes the ash from the doll’s face, revealing only two cracks from the edges of her red painted mouth. It makes her look like a ventriloquist’s dummy, like she’s ready to speak at any moment. Oh what he wouldn’t give to hear her words again, calm and firm and shaking him to the core and building him up until he could take on all the world’s demons. The path he’d been set on was hard, so hard, and full of ingrates who could not see as she had seen, as Bray had been taught to see. If Bray could only speak to her one more time, sit at her feet while she rocked in her chair and read verses to them all…

She remains stubbornly, unshakably, silent, sleeping the deepest slumber that is so difficult to wake.

He lightly shakes the ash from the doll’s long raven hair and smoothes it back down as best he’s able. Perhaps he’ll buy a little comb, to brush and style the hair correctly. And a new, clean dress for the doll, one that is more fitting than the dirty and damaged white frock it currently wears. A right proper funeral gown like she deserves, with black lace.

Bray takes off his gloves and traces her face. He can feel the little lashes tickling against his skin. And gently, so so gently, Bray pushes up the doll’s eyelids, revealing large gray eyes that pierce the soul.

“Hello, Abby. Your rest is over. It’s time to wake now,”

Bray stands up and grabs the stuffed rabbit he’d set aside earlier.

“I’ll build us a new home,” he tells the dolls as he walks to the car. A shadow passes over them, making it seem as though the dolls blinked. “I think you’ll like it a lot. I’ll light the way,”

**Author's Note:**

> Title and all lyrics within from Marionette by Reuben and the Dark.


End file.
